


Bruises, Scars, and Missing Things

by thestrangeladymalz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangeladymalz/pseuds/thestrangeladymalz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She, the lass in red in the corner who never seemed to leave his sight, now she was a challenge And Killian Jones loved a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises, Scars, and Missing Things

She made it a point to be the one to leave first. Red almost always found him when he pulled into certain ports along the coast. Yet Killian would leave her for last, to savor the most memorable one before he would set off again for the sea. It was their way of making each other suffer.

Out of all the girls in the tavern of his choosing, he would have the nicest ones playing at his feet, although he could clearly see her in the corner of his vision, hidden by shadows and her red hood, watching, waiting like a wolf stalking its prey. Second by second passed by like an eternity when their eyes would meet, they both knew full well he had very little interest in the simple tavern wenches who cooed at him for attention, they were no test for him, simply bags of bones that laid on their backs for him or pawed at his belt for some cheap pleasure run, what was that compared to what he knew waited for him as soon as she struck.

She, the lass in red in the corner who never seemed to leave his sight, now she was a challenge And Killian Jones loved a challenge.

His good hand and fingers would grip into her skin and against her bones while he put his hook to use to unburden her of her cloak and tight bodice while she would tear at his clothes and flesh in a way he could only describe as akin to a wild animal. Their bodies crashed and fell onto any stable surface that could hold them until they found themselves a suitable spot to hold against.

She was very good at holding in her gasps and cries by biting into anything she could, her lip, his shoulder, enough to leave bloody marks, as he drove into her over and over again. His own eyes would be occupied by the angles of her ribs against her skin to the bounce of her breasts and the curls that waved over her slender shoulders with each and every thrust of himself into her hot mound.

Then when she would have it in her mind, usually right before he was able to completely gather and release, she would shift and pin him to the floor so his skin stuck to whatever he laid against, sheets, or a tabletop, even splintered floorboards, knocking him down a few notches. It didn't matter to either of them, no amount of cushion would save his body from the black and blue mosaic that would seep under his skin the next morning. From time to time she would let him reach up to nip at her collar bone and run his tongue against the smooth curves of her pale skin and put his mouth to work on the tense tips of her breast, but she got more satisfaction pushing him down as if he would simply merge with what was below him.

Her hips rolled to envelope him, deeper and deeper into the slick wet folds between her legs, back arched and head tossing back and forth with her curtain of wild curls following her every move. Claw like fingernails scraped against his chest which muffled his own vocalization of pain and pleasure into a strange mixture of both. If no one knew better, it sounded like he was dying.

It would go on until his entire body went slack with exhaustion and she would fall against his chest, sweaty, heaving bodies and heavy faces that stilled to a rest next to each other until slivers of sunlight started to seep through the cracks of the walls and boarded windows.

When his eyes would finally open, much to the dismay to his still sore body, he saw the sway of her tangled mess of dark hair against her bare back. He watched the muscles under her skin move and stretch as her arms reached over her head and he took notice of the many thin and jagged white lines across her skin, even the new one, larger than the rest, still a bit raw from its recent addition.

His hand unintentionally went to touch it, his fingers barely brushed it when she jerked away at the connection.

"Where did you get that?" He asked, knowing full well what her answer was going to be.

"You don't get to ask those questions, remember?" She said as calm as she could muster. Of course, they didn't talk about it. "I don't ask about the hand, right?"

No words were spoken about their own healed over wounds. Red was good at keeping her curiosity to herself. She had never asked, not once, about the reason why the metal curvature stood in place of a hand, or how it happened. She had once said accidents become a part of us, whether we like it or not.

She had stood up, her naked body presented by a halo of light that burned through the cracks in the walls. He had seen it many times before, but he still liked to stare. She gathered her dress, mumbling about a broken bodice string.

In spite of the ache his entire body seemed to feel, he turned on his side in an attempt to rise for the day, she threw one of his boots at him and hit him square in the back, where he could already feel a multitude of bruises started to blossom. She let out a laugh as a moan escaped his lips. By the time he was able to turn around, she was already dressed, pulling the string of her iconic red hood right above her perfectly sharp collar bone.

"A rugged man of the seven seas should be used to a little rough and tumble by now, don't you think?" She mocked him and with a single wink of her thick black lashes, she was gone, like always.

And he was left a bruised, incomplete man with a snag of a grin playing on his lips.

 

 


End file.
